Cry For Me
by America Liberty
Summary: "You get hard in jail. I don't want that to happen to you." Why can't I just tell him how much I cared? Why can't I just open up to the one person in the world who I care about? Becasue I tell the gang I never cry, but right now? That might be a lie.


I never cry. It's not just a Greaser rule. It's my rule. Growing up in New York, crying meant that you'd be the first to go in a gang fight. Crying meant that you were low and weak. Crying meant that you didn't carry a blade or a heater. Crying was what to do on the streets if you had a death wish. It was a surefire way to get yourself killed slowly and painfully. I've only cried twice in my life that I can remember.

Back in New York it was simple. The rules were easy and if you didn't follow them you'd be dead before you had time to scream for the fuzz or help. I knew who would help me and I knew who would blow my brains out. I knew what stores would have cameras to look out for and most importantly I knew that I didn't have anyone. I was alone and that was ok with me.

Here in Tulsa it was different and I hated that. When I first came life was easy and I made a name pretty quick in the rodeos. I was a strong rider and was the only one at the stables who was able to handle the wild horses that those idiots brought in. It was still an easy life and one that I liked. Then I met the gang and everything got more complicated.

December 13th was the first time I cried since I was put in jail for shoplifting when I was 10. December 13th was cold and I wished that the red hot haze of anger that was bubbling up, in my chest, would dry away the tears so that I didn't have to let anyone else know just how much it affected me and just how much I cared for the kid.

Johnny might die. That statement hit me harder than any knife or bullet. That entire week I was sick with worry. We all decided to stay at the Curtis house and even there the kid was on edge. Who am I kidding? He was worse than on edge! Johnny hadn't slept since the attack and when he did he woke up screaming about his dad or about how the Socs might kill him. I'd spend the entire night, if that's what it took, to calm him down and let him know that I'd take care of him, if no one else did and that I'd never let them get him againe. I didn't even care who was around to see me drop that tough and non-caring wall. None of it ever worked though. He wouldn't eat or sleep or smile. All he did was cry and beg us not to let them hurt him. In a way I envied how open he could be. He didn't have to stay strong and he knew that we would protect him. He could cry and cry and we'd still love him like our own kid brother. He didn't have to be strong. I did. I always had to be hard, unless it was just me and Johnny. He's never been the same. He even wanted to go home to those abusive bastards. He probably felt helpless around the gang, like this. He sure as hell wasn't the only one.

Let me tell you I don't hate everyone. I might say I do, but I don't. I hate my parents and maybe Sylvia. I hate the cops and Johnny's parents but most of all I hate those damn Socials for what they did to Johnny. I promised myself that it would be the last time I ever cried, especially around Johnny and the gang.

Three weeks ago I broke that promise. I remember seeing his face scared and alone, showing up at Buck's. I looked at him and Pony and quickly saw the difference. Johnny was broke and shattered. Pony was not. He had his brothers and if the kid could get out of this slum he had a future. Johnny and I didn't, we only had each other. That's what made me care about him the most. The fact that he reminded me of myself and that I needed him. He made me feel like I had something to live for. He made me feel like I was important and like taking care of him was almost a job. That's why I needed to help him out now. But goddamn it! Why did he have to kill a Soc? He was going to get the chair if he got caught. If it were the Socs that killed Johnny they would have gotten a light warning, but because it was a Greaser and we were the less privileged; Johnny's life was now in danger and I had to help him. That's why I gave them money and clothing. I told them to stay at the old church and when Johnny turned and went out of the room I cried for the second time that I could remember. I hated tears. Especially where someone else might see them, but I couldn't control myself.

Even when I visited him and saw he was ok I still that feeling of guilt rising up in my chest that made me want to spit it up and scream; Stop! I didn't mean for him to get hurt, like that! I swear I tried to protect him and I don't even know why.

I guess because he reminded me of myself but twenty times more innocent. I knew the minute Darry told me about those pathetic excuses for parents that I'd fight to keep him naïve and young forever. I didn't want him to get hard like me. That was not a good life to live. No matter what I say to anyone else.

When he told me he was going to turn himself in I wanted to slap him from here to New York. I'm not going to lie to you I was angry. No! He didn't understand what jail was like. I guess it was partially my fault for bragging so much. I always told them about how I could take it and how easy it was and how tough you needed to be and all those stories about cops and how stupid they were and the other cell mates and how they all knew me by name and how I could beat anyone their up: but truth was the reason that I survived in jail without dying was because I was already dead on the inside. That and I never cried. Let me tell you when Johnny showed up on my doorstep at three in the morning beaten and bruised because his father was heartless bastard he didn't keep no strait face.

"Johnny! I aint mad at you." I said, gritting my teeth, as we drove back to the church from the drive through, but that was a, lie because I was angry at him and I wanted him to just shut his trap and listen to me because he don't know that jail is like. The first thing they do is teach you not to smile and not to show emotion. They teach you how to carry a blade without others knowing and how to pull it on people without the fuzz seeing. They teach you to cuss out a storm and they teach you to pick locks and treat people like dirt. Then they teach you to be tough in both senses of the word, but that's not all Two-Bit cuts it out to be. I sighed a little. Maybe if I opened up to him more he'd see how stupid he was being and that if he turned himself in he's be hurting more than just himself. I mean, does he really not understand that he'd break me if he turned himself in? He says no one would miss him if he died. He always showed up and as I was cleaning the cuts he'd cry about how he wanted to die and all that time I'd tell him that we needed him and that he didn't really want to die but he never listened and just kept crying: but damn it I would! I'd miss him if he turned himself in! Does he not know that I'd do ANYTHING to keep you from growing up and turning out like I did. With nothing. Nothing but him. "I just don't want you to get hurt, kid." I said and Ponyboy looked at me like he didn't know who I was. It made me want to hit him real hard but then I thought about what Darry would have done to me and that he was right. I didn't know who I was anymore. I can't write like Pony or fix a car like Steve. I don't got a job like Darry or the wits and humor that Two-Bit had. I don't got nothing but a beat up jacket, some street cred , and Johnny. Hell, if Johnny turned himself in. I wouldn't even have him anymore. "You don't know what a few month in jail can do to you." I said and stopped the car. "Blast it , Johnny!" I snapped and raised my hand to push hair out of my eyes. He looked taken aback. Did he really think I was going to hit him? No, I'd never if he was going to be a idiot and turn himself in I'd be the first one in the short line of people that would see him in jail. Pony would come to. So would Soda and Steve and Darry and Two-Bit, but most of them would just complain, how hard their lives were. All you did was sit there and tell them to follow their heart, heck I didn't even do that. "You don't know what a few months in jail can do to you, Johnny." I snapped. "You get hard in jail." I said and thought of the nights where I was so young and alone. The nights that I should have spent with my mom and dad curled up on the couch watching a show. But that's not how my life went. That's not how a Greasers life went. He looked up at me. I finished my sentence softly. "Like it happened to me.." I trailed off after that, suppressing a few tears. I wanted to knife myself. I really did. Had I honestly just said that? Really? Well, that's just great the little twerps were going to shoot their mouth off. Pony would go running back to Darry and Soda and Johnny would- Then I remembered the whole reason that I didn't want him to turn himself in- because he didn't have anyone to shoot his mouth off to.

"Well, what do you want Dally? Would you rather me live the rest of my life in hideouts and on the run?" He said, softly, but I could hear an edge of terror in his voice. I'll tell you what I want. I thought adamantly. I want you to leave with me. I want you and I to take off back to New York where people know me. I want to hotwire a car and get you the hell out of this goddamn town. I can take care of you and you can stay young. You don't have to get tough like I always tell you to. I'll actually get a job. You'd be better off without you parents anyways. Ponyboy can go back to Darry and Soda. He'd be fine. He's only an accessory to murder. He'd get four years tops. I want to shield you from anything and everything that might cause the little glimmer that you still have in your brown eyes to fade. I wanted to say all of that and I know he would have listened and probably done it without hesitation because for some messed up reason the kid looked up to me. I don't know why though, I'm only trouble and not the good kind, but I didn't say any of that. I just shut up and, I'm not going to lie to you, let one last tear escape my eyes because I knew that no matter how many ring wearing, blue mustang driving, no good, trashy, socials I jumped, no matter how many cuts and scars I helped heal, and even if you told me that I didn't fail you and that I filled a void that your father left; I might not cry on the outside but every time you looked at me with your big scared eyes, that had lost most of their bright flicker, I saw myself sitting in that seat and I saw what he'd become if I was gone and then who would take care of him? That's why I tried to stay out of the cooler; to keep him safe from his dad, and the fuzz, and even himself sometimes. That's why I needed to convince him to stay here. To stay young and not give up your youth because you 'felt bad.' I kept telling him to; but I didn't really want him to toughen up. I never want him to grow up; in a matter of fact. I needed to help him stay that way, not just so that he can be happy and safe, but so that I don't need to add any more times that I cry to my list.


End file.
